


The Thunder and the Flame

by Dorksidefiker



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Sexual Slavery (mentioned), Slavery (mentioned), Tags to be added, Terrible Romance Novel Cliches, Thunderclash has a type, barbarian au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-10 07:46:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12294579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dorksidefiker/pseuds/Dorksidefiker
Summary: Thunderclash only has as long as it will take to get the citymechs back to Nyon to woo the mech he is certain is the love of his life.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My obligatory Barbarian AU.

Thunderclash drew his cloak tighter and kept his smile casual as the oily little slaver oozed up to him. All the mech saw was fine silk and jewels, dazzling to the eye of the corrupt little citymech. And citymech he was, for all that he tried to ape nomad style; the glyphs he wore were a chaotic, meaningless hodge podge painted haphazardly across his face and frame. No clan, no lineage, no great deeds. Just a citymech playing pretend to run a con.

It might have fooled other citymechs, but no nomad out of his first cycle would have bought it.

Whatever tribes the slaver was used to dealing with clearly hadn't enlightened him, and Thunderclash... well, he couldn't be bothered.

Most of the guards were stationed around the merchandise, weapons ready and watching Thunderclash and his people like they expected a fight.

Good instincts. Couldn't let such valuable merchandise go undefended. There were half a dozen young mechs chained together in a circle by the fire pit. City born, judging from the lack of clan markings and their delicate builds. Firelight glinted off freshly waxed frames.

There was only one reason to shine up slaves like that if you weren't taking them to one of the Great Markets.

"Looks like we got here just in time," Thunderclash said lightly. At his side, playing the role of bodyguard, Paddox shifted slightly. He was uneasy, but it was only years of association that let Thunderclash know.

Paddox _never_ liked these plans. He found them far too risky, and he would just have soon avoided the slavers all together. But he was loyal, and in the end he always went along -- to keep Thunderclash from getting himself killed, or so he insisted. According to Paddox, finding another clan leader to serve was too much effort.

Like many of Thunderclash's party, Paddox was outClan, the last survivor of a tribe wiped out many vorns ago. Thunderclash's clan might have accepted him as a brother and his second, but they would _never_ accept him as leader should Thunderclash fall.

Thunderclash dreaded the day that might happen, not for his own sake, but for his clan. Try as he might, there was still a clear divide between the clan Thunderclash inherited and his so-called strays. He knew they were held together only by Thunderclash's will, and that those most likely to ascend to leadership would no doubt drive away the outsiders Thunderclash had gathered to him.

And still, Thunderclash lead his party on these misadventures. To do otherwise would be dishonorable.

"Yes, you're the first to arrive! Got the pick of the litter, indeed, indeed!" The slaver was all oily smiles as he gestured expansively towards the merchandise. "Normally I'd haul the whole lot to the Helix Market Faire-"

_But **that** market is closed to all but the Greater Merchant Clans and their vassals, and **no** clan would have **you** as anything but a drudge,_ Thunderclash thought. _No, you'd never dare go further into our lands than the outer settlements, and even **then** , you'd rather do it like this, selling your wares for a quick profit to whatever dregs you came across._ "Then today has been truly fortuitous for me." He matched the slaver smile for smile.

The slaver signaled one of the guards to make the captured mechs stand, to better show off the merchandise. The guard reached for a red and gold racer-

And got a burning stick jammed into his face as the shackles fell to the ground.

The guard fell back, screaming and clawing at his face. The racer didn't stop, barreling right into another guard with his firebrand. His fellow captives rose up, though perhaps with less vigor than the racer, attacking their captors.

Thunderclash watched, entranced, as the racer shoved his makeshift weapon into the gut of one guard, then brought it around to clock another in the helm.

The slaver was screaming bloody murder, calling for the perimeter guards who would not come. Thunderclash's people, the ones he had not brought in to the camp, had already seen to them. Never taking his eyes from the firebrand, Thunderclash stretched out a hand, engulfing the little slaver's head and crushing it.

"Would that be the signal, sir?" Paddox drawled.

Thunderclash fastidiously wiped the cranial fluid from his hand. "It would indeed."

Not that his people needed confirmation. They had struck moments after the racer had broken free, recognizing the opportunity for what it was.

Not that _that_ was much help to the racer just then; with the element of surprise gone, the guards dogpiled him.

Smart. Of all the captured mechs, he was clearly the greatest threat.

At least, he was until Thunderclash waded in.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything hurts, and Rodimus wants very badly to go home.

Rodimus hissed softly, grinding his denta. He didn't _dare_ show pain, not with them surrounded by _more_ damn barbarians, not with them _watching_.

Primus, everything _hurt_ ; his helm was still ringing, and he was battered and dented and _oh_ was he angry. He couldn't even see straight, he was so angry.

That might have been the blows to the helm...

Skids sidled up to him surreptitiously, offering Rodimus support as they walked. Rodimus almost jerked away, but that hurt too much, and he wasn't too sure he'd be able to keep walking on his own, not with how his knees kept threatening to give out. Beside them, Chromedome kept a hand on Rewind, and Tailgate was sandwiched between Sideswipe and Sunstreaker.

And they were all surrounded by heavily armed barbarians.

At least they weren't chained anymore. All they needed was one shot -- if they could get ahold of some of those weapons, they could escape.

Then it was just a four week hike back to Nyon, and _then_ he was going to take Getaway apart.

Rodimus cast his gaze around their captors, looking for _something_ he could use. He _couldn't_ let them be taken any further into the badlands; the longer they were in barbarian hands, the more likely they'd be separated and sold off. These were Rodimus's people, people he's sworn to _protect_ , and he would _not_ fail them.

The big one was watching him. He'd _been_ watching him since the slaughter of their original captors, and Rodimus had watched him right back, from the moment the barbarian had grabbed two of the slavers who'd dogpiled on him and crushed their heads. Then the barbarian had looked down at him, optics blazing, energon dripping from his servos, smeared across the blue and white paint of his chassis.

If Rodimus had acted _then_ , they'd already be on their way back to Nyon.

He blamed the blows he'd taken to his helm, scrambling his processor.

The barbarian's very presence had been enough to send the rest of the slavers who'd pinned Rodimus running, not that _that_ saved them. The ones not cut down by the purple mech with the sword or shot by the blue mech with the light arm cannon were struck down by shots fired from the surrounding darkness.

There wasn't a single slaver left alive when the barbarians rounded Rodimus and his people up.

Rodimus thought they'd made a good showing for a bunch of underfueled bots who'd been marched relentlessly across the badlands for weeks. Mostly him, Skids, and the twins, who'd grabbed the chain that had bound them together and gone to town. Chromedome had been preoccupied with protecting Rewind, and Tailgate... Tailgate tried, but he'd ended up being rescued by the purple mech.

At least, as rescued as anyone could be by heavily armed barbarian raiders.

They'd been promptly rounded up; more barbarians had emerged from the dark to back up their leader, and they'd made it _very_ clear that Rodimus and his people would be going with them.

"Not much further," the big one said in halting Neocybex. "Then rest. Fuel."

Rodimus turned his head away, trying not to let the barbarian see the way his optics kept unfocusing, trying not to think about how _empty_ his tanks were.

A stop to refuel would be a perfect opportunity.

Or it would have been, if the 'refuel stop' wasn't obviously the barbarians' main camp.

They were greeted by armed sentries, with the big one doing all the talking, gesturing towards the captives and clearly issuing orders. Rodimus caught maybe one word in ten, but he could get the gist.

_Take these somewhere, clean them up, and sit on them._

"Skids?" Rodimus whispered.

"It sounds kind of like Kalisian, but the emphasises are all wrong, and the word order-" Skids shrugged, jostling Rodimus painfully. He hissed in spite of himself, his systems threatening to offline and his empty tanks trying to purge. Suddenly, the big barbarian was in front of him, giving him a strangely intense look even as he barked orders at his own people.

Rodimus's vision dimmed, and he knew it was only Skids keeping him upright.

He was only dimly aware of someone grabbing him as his knees finally gave out.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which people start getting introduced to each other, and more questions are asked than are answered.

"Velocity, we need you!"

Thunderclash didn't _run_ through the encampment. That would have been beneath the chieftain's dignity. But he moved with a single minded speed and purpose that only a convoy class mech could muster up, and _that_ made people get out of the way.

Cyclonus, Paddox, Mirage and Perceptor herded the rest of the bots they'd rescued behind. Just as well; Thunderclash had relegated them to his least pressing concern when the racer had collapsed, no matter how confused by the changes in their circumstances they might be. Explanations would wait until after he was sure the racer wasn't going to die from some injury Thunderclash hadn't noticed or thought to treat right away.

Velocity, Primus bless her, had heard his bellow and was waiting for him, tent flap held open to allow him inside. In truth, she'd probably been waiting for hours, but she rarely had more to do after one of Thunderclash's raids than patch mesh wounds. This would be the first true test of her skills since joining the tribe.

Thunderclash hoped she was up to the task.

* * *

 

"What are you doing to him?"

Tailgate tried to demand answers as the tent flap closed and two of their new captors positioned themselves in front of it, but he was... well, _Tailgate_. Tiny, unimposing Tailgate, who still had the ball bearings to grab the purple swordsmech by the arm and punch him. He was lifted off his feet and dropped hard for the trouble, the swordsmech snarling a curse in his uncouth barbarian tongue.

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe put themselves between the shaken minibot and the swordsmech, and Skids, Chromedome, and Rewind surrounded him defensively.

They were starting to draw a crowd.

Outnumbered, unarmed, half starved, and Rodimus had been carried off for Primus only knew what.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Everybody ease off!" A new mech squirmed her way through the gathering crowd of barbarians, putting herself between the twins and the swordsmech, arms outstretched. "C'mon guys, you know better than this!"

It wasn't so much her presence that broke the tension for the city mechs as it was her flawless Neocybex.

The mech who'd shaken Tailgate snapped at the female. She flinched, but she didn't move. "That's no reason to be mean, Cyclonus. Can't you see they're scared?"

Cyclonus barked at her again.

"How about you guys just leave this to me, okay? I'm sure Thunderclash would tell you the same thing."

The red mech with the rifle put a hand on Cyclonus' arm briefly. Cyclonus growled and stormed off, shaking him loose, and the female visibly relaxed as she turned to face the twins.

"Don't mind Cyclonus, that's just how he is. There's a good spark underneath it all. Yeah." She waved a hand at the red mech. "Perceptor, I left some energon over- yeah, thanks, could you get it while I get them settled? Thanks."

That left only the two blue mechs guarding the tent and, ostensibly, them.

"Oh-kay." The female rubbed her servos together, then held them out, palms up, smiling. "Sorry about that. Most everyone here only speaks a little Neocybex, and on the other end we're working with this weird Kalisian dialect that I only half understand myself." She laughed, a little desperately, and it trailed off into an awkward silence.

"I'm sorry, _what_ is going on here?" Rewind asked. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker continued to imitate the two bots at the tent flap, trying to look brooding and menacing, despite being ready to collapse where they stood.

Skids cocked his helm and looked at her with narrowed optics. "You're not... you're _not_ one of them, are you?" he asked, gaze sweeping her from helm to pede.

The smile turned shy. "Depends on how you're defining _them_ ," she said, flapping her servos. "C'mon, sit, you've got to be worn out... and unlike some people, I have the manners of a civilized mech. I'm Nautica of Kalis Vis Vitalus, by way of Caminus, and you've just been rescued."

* * *

 

"What did you do, sit on him?" Velocity muttered. Thunderclash had known the Camien long enough to recognize the question as largely rhetorical. "Ugh. Doesn't matter how polished up he is, he'd have dropped dead before much longer. Some of these injuries are weeks old, and his self repair systems are a mess."

Velocity's frame blocked Thunderclash's view of the operation despite his attempts to peer around her. "What do you need?"

"Wouldn't say no to a real medbay." She didn't look up from where she was gently removing the outer helm. The tent walls rattled gently in the wind, and Thunderclash could hear Nautica gabbling away in the tongue of the city mechs. "Mm. Rattled his processor good, but I'm not seeing any penetration of the protoform. He's going to have to take his energon directly through the fuel line, and he won't be transforming for a while." The outer helm went back on, and she moved down the lithe, flame colored frame. "I'd say his biggest problem is starvation. Surprise surprise." Velocity looked up. "Are we staying put?"

Thunderclash ran through the time tables in his head. "Three more days, until Ratchet and the rest catch up with us. The area should be clear enough to safely move the whole tribe through now. But we _must_ leave if we're to reach the wintering grounds before the flooding cuts us off."

Not what Velocity wanted to hear, judging by her expression. "Someone will have to carry him," she warned. "Going to drop them off on the way?"

"If they wish to go back to where they came from," Thunderclash assured the medic. It was the same offer he'd made Velocity and her companions when he'd found them lost in the wastes and besieged by Ammonite raiders: _I will take you back to your people. Or you can stay with my tribe and join my battle against the Ammonites._

It had taken nearly six months to get back to Caminus. Windblade and Chromia had left them at Iacon, hoping to rally the bots of the great city-state to their cause, and by the time they'd reached the city they had once called home, Nautica and Velocity had elected to join Kalis Vis Vitalis.

Only Nautica had been unsurprised that Firestar had returned to Caminus; she'd shared Thunderclash's tent for most of the journey, and though she had complained often of the primitive conditions, he'd thought-

It didn't matter _what_ he'd thought. He'd obviously been wrong, and he had more pressing concerns.

"Will he be ready to travel?" Head wounds could be tricky things. Thunderclash would rather the mech not drop dead on the road because he was jostled wrong.

"Will we have a choice?" Veloticy asked in return. Thunderclash could only smile wryly in return.

Velocity removed one of the precious medical apparatuses from her kit, hooking a thin tube to the fuel line in the red racer's wrist and hanging a bag of energon from a hook so it could feed directly in to him.

Thunderclash inched closer. In the steady lamplight, he could see that his first impressions had been correct. The citymech was handsome, done in brilliant reds and golds that not even the beating and the long walk from the slaver's camp could hide. Everything about him, from the colors he wore to the silhouette of his frame, even the shape of his spoiler, evoked the image of fire.

His hand hovered over the crest on the unconscious mech's chest, just above his spark.

_What you seek will be wreathed in the flames of battle-_

Velocity reset her vocalizer delicately. "He needs rest."

"He's a fighter."

"He'd have to be, to have made it this far."


End file.
